


The Legend of the Hunter's Sons

by TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Apocalypse, Brothers, Castiel (mentioned in the notes), Death (Supernatural)(mentioned), Demons (mentioned), Gen, Hunters tales, John Winchester (mentioned) - Freeform, Legends, Lucifer (supernatural)(mentioned), Post-Apocalyptic, Tall Tales, generally cannon compliant up to season 7, post-season 7ish, vampires (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 02:50:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9858704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen/pseuds/TheGreenestGreenToEverGreen
Summary: The apocalypse has been and gone. It wasn't  the big end that everyone was expecting but there were repercussions. Lucifer might have been stopped and you might struggle to see a demon now-a-days but the subsequent surge in monster activity, really knocked the world back a peg. So it's a post apocalyptic age and you keep your head down and live simple, if you know what's good for you. But hunters still tell stories of the boys who started it all...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Tales get told and in every telling the facts slightly change and grow. 
> 
> In this post apocalyptic re-imagined snippet, we had seasons 1-5 as cannon, but somewhere around seasons 6-8 things are a bit blurry on the details: mostly likely Eve got much further with her monster army and all the stuff with Leviathan and Deans trip to purgatory might have popped open the monster box and let out a load more monsters. With monsters all over the place there was your average post-apocalyptic regression and hunters and monster killing became common knowledge, but still fairly specialist. Most people just keep their heads down, but a few bands of hunters rove the country killing monsters and of course gossiping as hunters do.
> 
> It's about 30 years post apocalypse. The boys are still in the family business thanks to Cas and his angel healing which apparently has the added benefit of slowing the aging process (something not noted before because no one else has ever been healed before by an angel as many times as Cas has healed the boys) but they are not immortal.  
> Cas is off doing some Cas things, and heaven is closed so he's half power Cas. -Can't have him fixing the world too easily can we or we wouldn't have a story;) so thats where we join the boys on their hunt.
> 
> P.S. I am heavily dyslexic and this hasn't been beta'd. Just to warn ya. :P

"You two are strangers in these parts. It ain't wise to travel alone out here. The badlands may be quiet just now but it ain't safe, not by a long shot."

"Why? What you heard?" Asks the shorter stranger in a rough voice, though he's not short by any standards except for the giant’s he is stood besides.

"Well ain't just monsters you have to worry about round here." The old local obviously has a stash of rough made home-brew and has been sampling the goods. He just as equally likes the sound of his own voice, but the strangers let him gab, he might have information they haven't heard yet.

"There is an old legend that is told round these parts sometimes, from back before the world broke, now you gotta understand it's told in quiet voices round the fire late at night. Not told as a ghost or monster story, mind you, but told half in caution and half in awe."

The two seem interested so the fella warms to his tale. "The legend starts off simple enough, it's the story of two brothers. Brothers born the sons of hunters, who themselves were the children of hunters, themselves the children of hunters and so forth, back for generations untold. Some say that not only was hunting in their blood, but that it was their very essence. One thing all them legends agree on though, was that these boys were touched by fate from the moment they were born. Born in fire and blood and pain, it is said that the boys weren't raised on mother's milk, but on gun oil and whiskey and a thirst for monster blood. They didn't know toys or games, they knew weapons and combat skills, they could chant an exorcism in Latin before most kids could recite their abc's, knew the best method to gank a beastie before most kids knew how to tie their shoes.

It's said that their father had the Sight, and whispered that he passed it on to his youngest kid. If their father did have the Sight then it didn't serve him good. He was canny enough to prep his kids for the perils that would come but not canny enough to miss the Demon that opened his guts to the air. Some dark versions of the legend even say that the father wasn't gutted by the Demon, but instead sold his soul and his life to the demon to ensure that his sons would have the power of life and death over any monster they came across. But whatever the deal with the dad, it was these boys that found themselves alone in the world and the only thing standing between good decent folk and the monsters. 

It's said they were the greatest warriors the world had ever seen. None could stand before them, monsters fled at the very sound of their name. And it was these very boys who saved the world from the Devil and all the hordes of hell. The youngest used his magic to bind the devil and cast him into the strongest cage ever made in hell, but in the process he got stuck, and the older brother fought all the hordes of hell and turned heaven upside down to pull him back out. But because of this upheaval there was a war in heaven - one that allowed the An Ancient Evil to loose all the monsters from Purgatory, creating the havoc and destruction we live in today. But the legend goes that because the boys could come and go as they pleased from heaven, hell or purgatory, they couldn't be killed, and if anything tried then they'd just come right back for revenge. So even Death was too scared to reap those boys, and as a result they still walk the earth to this very day - ganking monsters and leaving the curse of Death on any they come into contact with. See, Death is so pissed at being too scared to take them boys, that it takes anyone they touch outa spite. So I wouldn't stray too far if I were you, you never know who you might run into out there." The old timer pauses for a swig on his bottle and casts an eye at the strangers to gauge if they are suitably impressed.

The taller stranger who had looked interested at the start of the tale, now has thrown his eyes to his companion with a sceptical cast to his features. "Raised on gun oil, whiskey and a thirst for monster blood?"

The other briefly quirks one side of his mouth and shrugs one shoulder "Meh, close enough. But that's what you pick up on? Over magic powers and Death running scared??” His grin is fleeting before a slightly sly cast steals over his features, "but Latin exorcisms before the abc sounds like the right level of nerdiness.” He chuckles at his own humour as if expecting the other to join in. What actually happens is he gets a resigned look of exasperation.

"Taint funny" the old timer interrupts the two sharply. "There's stuff to joke about and stuff you should pay heed to, and this ain't no joking matter."

The taller one recasts his features into a more respectful expression but the shorter one, though no longer laughing, still has wry humour crinkling the corners of his green eyes.

"So you ever meet these Handsome Magic Wondering Son-of-a-Guns?" Chuckles asks.

The old-timer casts him a sour eye "Wouldn't be speaking t'ya if'n I had now, would I?! Cause the curse woulda got me." 

The shorter one throws the other a look that says volumes concerning widely spread tales of curses that leave no survivors. But before he can further antagonise the old timer the taller one breaks in.

"Look. We appreciate the warning, we do, but we are tracking a nest of vamps that have been moving west, so we are heading into the badlands one way or another. We just need to know if you have seen any signs?"

With a pause of his lips and another swig of his bottle the local squints at the two, wondering if he has been wasting his time talking with Crazy for the last several minutes. "You wanna track vamps across the badlands? Just you two? You insane?"

"Just another day at the office, Papa Jupiter" quips the one with the smart mouth.

"Office?? Son, you ain't old enough to remember what work at an office was." The old fella snorts

"You'd be surprised." The tall one adds with a flick of his eyes to the other that might say: don't add any more, or: it's not worth the hassle, or: if only he knew. - The old man don't know which it is. He doesn't speak Stranger, or certainly not whatever brand of crazy Stranger language these two have going on. At any rate he's starting not to care. The Winchester story is one of the best stories he has in his repertoire and not only is he thinking it fell on deaf ears but that he'd be pissing in the wind even talking Weather with these two loons.

"Ain't nobody listens to old men anymore" he mutters to himself, ignoring the stupidness about their age and answering the stupidness about tracking vamps through the badlands. "You boys insist on doing this, it's your funeral, don't say I dint warn ya. I ain't seen no signs of vamps, but old man Cutter from 3 miles down Long Road, was raving something ate half his herd of cattle. Course the old fool is crazy enough to be trying to farm right on the edge of the badlands so it could be anything what done it, but you wanna start somewhere maybe try there."

"Well that'll do us for starters." Comes the reply, followed with a slightly mumbled "God that was like getting blood out of a stone. Crazy old timers, with their crazy old stories, wouldn't know the truth if it snuck up and bit em on the arse" Then the shorter one turns to the giant and adds "Come on Sasquatch, move your arse, daylights a-wasting."

"Dean there's no need to be rude to the man." Comes a mumbled reply before Tall Guy turns to follow the other, while throwing back over his shoulder a sincere and slightly apologetic look "thank you for your time, we appreciate the help"

As the two start to move off the old man can just about hear a muttered conversation between the two.  
".... don't be a bitch Sammy, crazy old coot...."  
".... don't call me bitch, Jerk. You were being rude...."

Before they move out onto the road the old man raises his voice and calls out after the boys, "so Fellas, when yer loved ones come a asking after your bodies, who will I know to tell em passed by?"

The two make eye contact for a long moment before smart mouth turns a grin back at him and calls back, "The names Winchester. I'm Dean and this is my brother Sam."

The old man rolls his eyes, and mutters "Smart Arse." Before he gets up to fetch himself some more rot-gut and mutter to himself about smart mouthed giant strangers who don't appreciate a good tale and don't have the sense to stay out of the badlands.

And two brothers head off in search of old man Cutter and a roving pack of vamps because some things never change even if the details seem twist with every telling of the story.


End file.
